


children of dust and ashes

by angryelftwink



Series: no one can touch you now that you're mine [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Crisis of Faith, M/M, garbled Andrastian/Elvhen syncretism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryelftwink/pseuds/angryelftwink
Summary: Zevran has a unique relationship with faith. So does Angharad- if he can ever figure out what that is.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Male Brosca
Series: no one can touch you now that you're mine [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812061
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: ZevWarden Week 2020





	children of dust and ashes

Nothing was more peaceful than the deepest night, exhausted from a long day’s journey and a night with Zevran in his bedroll, yet awake still. Angharad sighed contentedly, squirming to feel more warmth from the blankets and his lover’s skin.

“You know,” Zevran said, a bit of sleep to his voice, “I think you might find Andrastianism suits you.”

Angharad sighed, less than contentedly. “You and Alistair have been discussing my personal crisis of faith?”

“He had questions about the Elven gods for me.” Zevran paused, reaching an arm around Angharad. “I believe in both, as it happens. I believe in the gods of my people, _and_ I believe Andraste was divinely blessed and sent to save us.”

“She did a great job of it.” He rolled over, pushing his face down into the blankets.

He wanted a pillow. A nice pillow. That would be more comfort than a religion.

“Blame the Dread Wolf for his betrayal.”

“All right.” Angharad was pretty sure the Dread Wolf and Andraste had nothing to do with each other, but that sounded like a conversation for the daytime (and Leliana).

The muffled sound of Pleaspet’s contented panting in the distance harmonized with the embers of the low fire and the insects outside. Sten would be on watch by now, Angharad thought. Pleaspet was always trying to win him over.

“I simply think… Andraste, but not the Chantry. That may be the answer you seek.” Zevran’s cheek pressed into his shoulder. “She stood for justice and compassion, little as that is remembered.”

“You don’t understand what the Stone is to a dwarf.” He reached to take Zevran’s hand, pressed to his chest. “Down there, I feel it as I feel your heartbeat now. As mage is to Fade, so dwarf is to Stone, Zev. What am I if I don’t… _want_ that?”

“Well, the Stone does not seem to give you any mystical powers, nor does its absence steal away your mind.” Zevran nudged his head against Angharad’s, and for a second they both spat up hair. “My meaning is… you can have both, mi tesoro. Throw away what angers you. Take only the truths you cannot part with.”

He clenched Zevran’s hand, shutting his eyes and focusing on what he could feel. Zevran’s soft, steady heartbeat, and duller than that, the beat of the lyrium deep in the earth. Here in the mountains it could still be felt, if you made yourself look.

“I don’t want to be part of the Stone. I don’t want anything to do with ancestors. I don’t want…” Angharad let out a deep breath. “I don’t know the line between hating Orzammar and hating being a dwarf.”

“There are surface dwarves.” Zevran purred the words, running his hand down Angharad’s side. He was so soothing it ached. “We are journeying to Denerim, no? Surely there are some there. Not to mention our own fine Messere Feddic.”

Angharad slowly emptied his lungs. “I just… I wish you surfacers loved the sky the way dwarves love the Stone. The first time I saw it… I felt such peace, Zev. Peace I didn’t feel again until I found the strength to say I love men.”

“Then love the sky.” A light kiss was pressed to Angharad’s jaw. “Truly, _someone_ must be out there revering it. The Dalish say your people fear the sky for Elgar’nan threw the sun into a hole. Perhaps you were inspired to follow it or something.”

“The sun could never be down there. I’d know if it was.”

The certainty shocked him, and Zevran let out a pleased purr.

“Go to sleep, then, you lover of the sun.”

“It’s not as if it’s just the sun.” Angharad rolled over, staring up as if the tent didn’t block his view. He reached up, imagining anyway. “I also love the moon, and the stars. The breeze, even the storm…”

 _And you,_ he didn’t say. But Zevran sighed contentedly, curled up with his head on Angharad’s chest, and said “Sleep, already,” which could almost mean _I love you too._


End file.
